


In Fits and Starts

by MarieTurtle



Series: We've Got to Stop Meeting Like This [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, ashebones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieTurtle/pseuds/MarieTurtle
Summary: Abigail has been in Nassau for months, yet Billy keeps her at an arm's length. A new arrival intent on making a name for himself stirs up problems for both sides of the war over Nassau. When he sets his sights on Abigail, he stirs up more trouble than he bargained for.This is certainly not the future her father envisioned for her when he sent her to finishing school.





	1. Chapter 1

“I think you should accept his offer.” Eleanor, true to fashion, waited just long enough for the maid to serve coffee and leave before cutting right to her purpose. The men had retired to the smoking room with a few sly comments about business “not fit for ladies’ ears.” That had earned them a dark scowl from Eleanor, who probably had more time commanding the island, boat crews and men’s business than all of them combined, dresses be damned. Governor Rogers bit back a smile at her instant disgusted lip curl, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and ushered the officers out of the dining room.

 

The invitation to dine with the governor and English-sponsored leaders of Nassau had not come as a surprise. Miss Guthrie had called on Abigail more than once, and, as a citizen of the crown and local landowner, Abigail represented a “concern” for the governor. At least, that’s how Miss Guthrie had phrased it. Abigail remained publicly neutral in all affairs, patronizing the businesses of loyalists and rebels alike and staying away from any resistance gatherings. They were easy enough to avoid: Billy told her how he deployed his “agitators,” as he called them, and of course always passed warning before anything significant would stir up more trouble for loyalists.

 

Like another black spot murder.

 

In their visits, Eleanor spoke at length about the difficulties of being a solitary woman in Nassau. Abigail listened attentively. No matter the woman’s intentions, she undoubtedly had experience to share. Eleanor couched her and Rogers’ concerns over her with words like “security” and “safety.”

 

“The future is uncertain,” Eleanor had said on one such visit. “A woman alone in the world has only one currency that cannot be seized by tariffs, blockades, or a bad season.”

 

Abigail was not so naïve as to believe that Miss Guthrie and Governor Rogers’ concerns were purely for her safety. No, their concerns had to more to do with her neutrality. In addition to her discretion with never being seen supporting the pirate Brethren, as they’d come to be called, she also had not donated a single dime of her family’s wealth to Rogers or the crown’s militia.

 

Like the dinner invitation, Eleanor’s bluntly-stated purpose was also not a surprise. The young, dashing and cold Lieutenant Trent Pierce had not yet called on her at her home but made a rather stiff point of walking her to and from her cart on the occasions he’d seen her in town. He was the single second son of a new merchant who would do well to marry a colonial girl with money, even if she was a bit besmirched.  

 

They, of course, had not spoken a word to each other of so much as a courtship, but Eleanor was sharp as a tack and about five paces ahead of anyone she ever met. It had also not escaped Abigail’s notice that someone as cool as Pierce would do little more than nod to her in the street if he didn’t have a design on her.

 

Pierce had taken a position over the remains of Hornigold’s militia. An officer of the Royal Navy, his task was to marshal all loyal forces under the English banner and consolidate their leadership on the island. If she were to marry him, it would mark a significant financial gain for the crown’s efforts in securing Nassau.

 

When Abigail didn’t respond, Eleanor continued. “He will not want a long courtship, of course. This place is a tinderbox and Spain is coming.”

 

“Yes,” Abigail sighed and set her coffee down. “Once he gets my money, he can afford to re-outfit the what’s left of the fleet for defense of the harbor. I understand England has not responded to Governor Rogers’ or the commodore’s requests for more funds in anticipation of war with Spain?”

 

Eleanor squinted and the ghost of a smile hinted across her lips. She took a sip of coffee and continued to watch the younger woman with something like fondness. “You do an excellent job of pretending you don’t have the faintest idea what’s going on. “

 

“And,” Abigail, smirked and continued, “I believe ‘defense of the harbor’ is simply a euphemism for turning all broadsides toward the port if and when the Brethren and militia finally clash.”

 

Eleanor leaned back into her tall, tufted chair with a new appreciation of her young friend. “Why Miss Ashe, I believe you are only one or two steps short of being a true woman of Nassau.”

 

“What are those one or two steps you believe I’m deficient?”

 

Eleanor arched a slender brow, eager to test her limits. “For one, your business is far too honest. You’ll need to start taking part in smuggling. Taxable goods, weapons, that sort of thing. And two,” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “you have to fuck a pirate.”

 

It wasn’t the language that made her color. God knew she’d used the words before. The men who worked her plantation were a mix of farmers and former sailors who made little effort to clean up their language in her presence. Billy tried, but swearing was quite possibly a second language to him.

 

No, Eleanor, as usual, nailed Abigail to the wall. Billy had protested vehemently, and then finally conceded to her logic when they first started the smuggling. A survey of her property revealed access to a small river that let out into a shallow, well-concealed and never traveled cove. The river was tricky - shallow and rocky throughout, fast enough to break apart an errant boat - but a skilled sailor could navigate small boatloads of supplies right up to Abigail’s densely jungled property. From there it was only a matter of concealing the goods in whatever they were bringing to town.

 

They had stood side by side looking over the water. Billy scowled, shaking his head.

 

“You said you were having problems bringing in supplies through the main port,” Abigail arched a brow up at him.

 

“Yes,” Billy drug out the word. “But this is…”

 

“Smuggling,” Abigail nodded gamely.

 

Billy looked down at her, squinting his eyes and searching for some evidence of the exact moment she became  _ this. _ She only beamed up at him and he lost the battle to the amusement and pride stirring for her. “I feel like I shouldn’t be this surprised. I should have seen this coming, and yet.”

 

“And yet,” she replied cheekily. And so she embarked on a small smuggling venture with the Brethren.

 

The other thing was something Abigail could seldom stop thinking about. Billy visited weekly, always during the day, and always with an elaborate excuse. Sometimes he brought extra lamb from their own stock, other times he made himself busy fixing something on the house, tilling the sustenance garden, helping with the animals. Once a month he came with a small crew of men to help with the harvest, which was a thinly-veiled excuse to pick up their shipment of flint stones, powder, rifles, swords and other such items. Their friendship was no secret, but not something she flaunted around Nassau. He was popular enough amongst the locals, loyalist and pirate alike, for this to be brushed aside as his sorry attempt at courtship.

 

However, since that first night, he had made a significant effort of never being alone with her.  She told herself it was for the best, but every time he came and went without incident she was left disappointed. Her upbringing dictated that he was right, it was improper to want anything from a single man other than chaperoned visits. It was made more egregious that he was a criminal. 

 

But the past two years had taught her that life wasn’t so simple. English society could make rules until the second coming, that didn’t mean they were  _ right _ . She could follow those rules to the letter and still end up shunned and shamed and desperately unhappy. Was it so wrong to want to spend time with a person who made her happy, when life was so short and there was so little happiness to be found?

 

Eleanor was watching her with a sly smile. She took the flush of pink in Abigail’s cheeks and neck as confirmation of at least one of the two items and sipped her coffee. “You can talk to me, you know, but I understand we aren’t well acquainted. I am aware that you socialize with Max; I’m certain she would never let you go ignorant of anything important.”

 

If possible, Abigail turned a brighter shade of red. Eleanor had misjudged her,  _ massively _ , and perhaps Billy, too. Abigail had no idea what to make of it or how to respond. Eleanor had correctly guessed Abigail’s participation in one of the two activities, but now she couldn’t exactly deny one without confirming the other. Miss Guthrie was the governor’s right hand and a staunch supporter of the return of English rule to Nassau. The rebellion - and more serious concerns from Spain - had done a solid job halting the execution of pirates and smugglers, but she could still be arrested and have her property seized.

 

“You will, however,” Eleanor continued, assuming Abigail’s silence was assent, “need to put a stop to it for Pierce, whenever he plucks up the courage to ask you.”

 

That caught Abigail off guard. “The courage?”

 

“Please, we both know you’re something of a pet to half the island. On an island like this that alone would scare off lesser men,” Eleanor paused, her eyes drifting to the closed door the men had disappeared behind. “It’s also no secret that the first mate to Silver spends an inordinate amount of his time at your plantation.”

 

The silence that fell was deafening. Eleanor wasn’t wrong about any of that. “You think that if Lieutenant Pierce were to court me, it might stir up more problems between the pirates and the crown.”

 

Eleanor rose from her seat and paced to the window, pursing her lips in thought. “You already know it will.” She turned back to Abigail, more serious and pensive than she had ever seen her. “It would also help add a measure of stability and reaffirm this island’s commitment to British rule if one of her more prominent businesswomen were to publicly and personally align herself with the governor. Others will follow your example. War with Spain is an inevitability. The last thing any of us need is to weaken our own home with a civil war over Flint’s damaged pride.”

 

The image of Miranda Hamilton’s crumpled, bleeding form flashed through Abigail’s mind. This was closely followed by the memory of a particularly warm day when Abigail and Kaya both stopped what they were doing in the house at the sight of Mr. Kruse and Billy emerging from the cane fields, each with their shirts wrapped around their heads. It was their backs that stopped both women. Their skin tones couldn’t have been more different - Mr. Kruse’s dark satin brown to Billy’s burnished gold - but they each bore matching, silvery lash scars crisscrossing their shoulders. No one could be free like this. Echoing Eleanor’s choice of words, “You and I both know it’s about much more than Captain Flint’s pride.”

 

“I know what it is to be in love with one of them,” Eleanor snapped, then reeled herself back. “You want to believe him because he believes it so much himself. It’s so easy to get swept up in it, but the truth is they don’t want to build a home or protect their people.” Her voice was steady but her eyes were glassy. “They are hunters and killers, all of them. They would fight anything that stood in the way of their freedom to hunt and kill with impunity.”

 

Eleanor could be so beautiful. Her ability to flit between demure English rose and hardened pirate queen all while looking like something a painter had dreamt up was a marvel to Abigail. She stood and joined Eleanor at the window. Outside, Nassau teemed with life. “They can’t hang us all,” had been a prophecy, now it was a way of life. The navy blockade at the harbor had only redirected smuggling operations to smaller ports, private harbors and hidden coves all over the island. Men who knew how to traverse the jungles and the lay of the land were in high demand. Pirates and shady merchants lived and worked right out in the open next to militia and uniformed sailors. Governor Rogers simply did not have the manpower to arrest more than half the island.

 

“In my experience,” Abigail spoke softly, “all men are hunters and killers. Some simply have something better to fight for than others.”

 

“Billy is as much of a killer as the rest of them.” Abigail didn’t stifle the audible, sharp intake of breath. Her instinct to defend Billy from this woman was wildly misplaced but present nonetheless. “He was the envy of Charles Vane. I even hear that Teach has designs on grooming him as his successor, which would make him Charles’s successor. Any man in this part of the world who earned the respect of Vane and Teach is a pirate to his core.”

 

“And if he were to accept a pardon, and a letter of marque, and join Pierce’s men privateering or the militia, killing and hunting on behalf of the government, even turning his guns on our own town against our own people, would that make him less of a pirate?”

 

Eleanor’s mouth quirked up and she took one of Abigail’s hands. “You think he is different because he is kind and gentle with you. I used to feel the same about Charles. As soon as I stood in his way, he crucified my father.” She dropped Abigail’s hand and returned his gaze to the torch lit street outside. “Billy had a hand in at least three black spot murders since naming John Silver as the  _ pirate king _ of Nassau, to strike fear into the hearts of any who would stand against them. Do you honestly think he would not simply remove you from his path one way or another if you were to provide any resistance to his glorious work here? What happens when he plans to deliver the black spot to a person you care about? You shouldn’t have to learn the hard way, as I did.”

 

“I am sorry Charles hurt you,” Abigail began, “but Billy is not him.”

 

“He will never marry you.” Eleanor cut to the quick, her words like a sharp knife cutting Abigail open and spilling out secret thoughts she had never given voice to. “If you don’t take steps to look out for yourself -“

 

The door to the smoking room swung open, bringing with it a waft of cigar fumes and the gentlemen, apparently finished with their own business. Eleanor straightened her posture and plastered a bright smile on her face for Woodes. Abigail was slower to wipe the troubled look off her face.

 

Trent cautiously approached Abigail. He cut a fine figure in his royal blue, gold-trimmed coat. Dark hair, blue eyes, medium height, there was nothing particularly distinctive about him. He didn’t arrest her the way Billy had since the first time she laid eyes on him. He gave her a thin-lipped smile and nod before Woodes spoke up, “I am informed your driver had to leave before dinner was over, Miss Ashe.” That was a surprise to Abigail, but not Eleanor. “Lieutenant Pierce has offered to escort you home. You can take our carriage.”

 

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Abigail tried to smile graciously, but couldn’t fight the sense she had been ambushed.

 

Eleanor looped an arm through one of Abigail’s and waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, your house is too far to walk and it’s so late. A young woman should not be on the streets unescorted at this hour.”

 

The irony of Eleanor giving that speech did not escape Abigail, or Woodes, who gamely bit back a smirk.

 

The freedom of the uncovered carriage was almost a relief to Abigail after the crowded dining room, stifled with hidden messages and feigned meanings. The effort of pretending to be unbothered by her coffee with Eleanor had nearly sent her dizzy. Though, that may have just been the return to wearing stays for the evening. The ocean breeze on her face brought a modicum of deliverance, but she wouldn’t be able to truly breathe until she was home, alone, and got the bloody thing off.

 

The fresh air even eased the awkwardness of sitting across from Trent, who had yet to look her in the eye. When he finally spoke, it was with a clarity she hadn’t expected. “You have been most surprising, Miss Ashe.”

 

She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap and waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. He watched her across the carriage with those crystalline blue eyes, sharp as diamonds in the moonlight. “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, Sir.”

 

He pressed another thin-lipped smile and shifted in his seat. “It’s only…they speak of the women here as if you’re…”

 

“Savages?” she offered.

 

Trent had the decency to look abashed. “Yes, and your ordeal is well known. That you would come back here at all is astonishing, but you even continue to hire  _ locals _ to help your harvests. One would assume you’d gone native, yet here you sit, as pretty and English as any could hope.”

 

Abigail blinked slowly and kept her mouth tightly shut. He clearly meant to compliment her, but it was so entangled with his well-bred snobbery it was difficult to discern where the insult stopped and the flattery began. “I, thank you,” she choked out and cleared her throat as daintily as possible.

 

He turned his attention to the plots of farmland they were passing, mostly overrun and abandoned. The jungle was want to take everything back here. “I would like to offer the use of some of the militiamen for your extra harvesting needs. I am told you recruit extra help fairly regularly from within the town.”

 

They both knew what  _ extra help _ she was recruiting and why he would prefer his own men on her land, probably in more ways than one. Abigail let her eyes wander the scenery as well, terrified he’d finally look at her again and read her expression like a book. “Oh, well, they do fine work. Since the blockade, so many locals are underemployed, and I would hate to put extra strain on your resources.”

 

“It would be no trouble,” he said a touch too quickly. 

 

Fortunately, they arrived at Abigail’s gate before he could further press the matter. He alighted from the carriage and offered her his hand. “May I walk you to your door?”

 

It was strange. She hadn’t thought twice about practically dragging Billy into her house in the middle of the night, but Trent made her hesitate. Perhaps he reminded her too much of her upbringing, but she was keenly aware of the hour and just how alone they were. “Yes, that would be fine.” She forced the smile. His hand felt chilly on hers, but he kept a respectful distance, opening the gate neatly before her.

 

When they reached the door, he didn’t release her hand. “May I call on you?” He asked without preamble.

 

She was trapped. She had no good reason to say no. Keeping face with the governor and his people was important. She could move in and out of both circles seamlessly still, and her social efforts with Miss Guthrie and others seemed to keep their interest out of her business. “That would be lovely, thank you,” she found herself choking out the words with a bright smile.

 

Trent accepted this, bowed and was off with crisp, efficient steps. He blessedly did not insist on making plans, which suddenly occurred to Abigail as potentially problematic. She had no idea when he intended to call.

 

Oh dear.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy’s ears perked up at the sound of opening doors and light, tinkling feminine laughter. Not that he had been drinking on the inn’s balcony since he happened to see Abigail enter the governor’s house for dinner. The few girls who had tried their luck with him had long since given up and left him to his cups. That dinner had taken far too long for his tastes. How long did it take rich people to eat their food? Fortunately, it took quite a bit of liquor to affect him. 

 

He had nearly bolted to the servant’s entrance of the home when he saw Abigail’s cart and driver leave without her not half an hour after she arrived. Was she staying there? What on earth for? Reason got the better of him and he decided to settle in and wait. It was none of his business anyway. Yet, he stayed at his table, quietly drinking alone, with a weather eye on the governor’s house down the main road.

 

There she was, standing on the house steps with the others and glowing like something far too pretty to be found on the streets of Nassau. She had done herself up for this. He saw her so often at the plantation, usually outside working with everyone else, he forgot what she looked like in a fancy dress, hair fixed up proper. Not that he didn’t find her distractingly lovely up to her arms in potatoes and sweat and dirt. 

 

She never asked anything of her people that she wouldn’t do herself. He had been right in Savannah: she’d make one hell of a pirate if they let her on a boat.

 

The carriage pulled around the corner and some git in a Royal Navy coat and hat helped her in, then took the seat across from her. Billy’s feet left the chair they’d been propped on and his cup landed hard on the table. From this distance, he vaguely recognized the man as Lieutenant Pierce, the new liaison between the colonial privateers and militia, and the crown. This wouldn’t do at all. It was one thing for Abigail to remain friendly with these people. She had to at least maintain a facade of neutrality, but he’d seen this man. He’d seen him on the docks, marking down names for a press. He’d seen him set two armed militiamen on a boy caught trying rather badly to steal food from a cart. He’d also seen him set eyes on Abigail, blissfully unaware, and make every effort to intercept her every time she came into town.

 

At least Billy had the courtesy to let her conduct her business in peace. 

 

Billy took one last pull on his drink before starting his rise from his chair. A firm hand landed on his shoulder, followed by a familiar face settling lazily into the chair Billy’s feet had been propped on. 

 

Billy sat back down, his jaw grinding. “Jack.”

 

“Billy,” Jack Rackham nodded amiably and raised his own cup in a toast. “I hear you’re having a lovely evening.” He tipped his eyebrows toward the 

empty bottle on the table. “We don’t often have the pleasure of your patronage at our fine establishment; I thought I’d come say hello.”

 

Billy didn’t respond. His eyes flickered back to the street to the rapidly retreating coach. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to follow. Jack didn’t  need to turn his head to know what had Billy red along his neck and practically growling at him. “Miss Ashe did look lovely this evening,” he remarked with that infuriating air of casualness. Billy could hardly stand socializing with the man on a good day and only found him tolerable when he was using that calculating mind to orchestrate ship movements and other operations. “But you know, if you go down there and kill a uniformed officer of the Royal Navy, you’re not exactly going to be helping our cause.”

 

Billy forced himself to relax. Jack was right. It was asinine anyway. He had no claim over Miss Ashe. “It’s none of my business,” he ground out.

 

Jack nodded with comically-pursed lips. “No, it’s not. Besides, Anne is waiting in the alley under strict instructions to stop you if you look like you’re going to do something stupid.”

 

Billy snorted and poured himself the rest of his bottle. “I’d like to see her try.”

 

“As would I,” Jack raised his cup in a toast, which Billy met, reluctantly. “That would be a hell of a fight. But again, that would in no way help our cause, would it?”

 

The rum burned his throat but at least it, and Jack’s annoying presence, gave him something else to think about. “No, I reckon Anne Bonny cutting me down at the knees would help no one.”

 

Jack crossed his ankle over his knee and guffawed. “At least we agree on exactly how that fight would end.”

 

After a moment, Billy gave into the chuckle. 

 

He would ride by her house later, and if all was in good order, he would check on her at the end of the week as usual.

 

No sense in making a fool of himself over something that was most definitely none of his business.

 

* * *

  
  


Abigail awoke earlier than normal to the sound of an ax splitting wood over and over outside her house. The sun was only just peeking over the horizon, and Mr. Kruse typically didn’t set any men to work this close to the house this early. She knew for a fact she had no need to add to her woodpile, so she drug herself sleepily out of bed and dressed quickly. 

 

It was Friday, the day Billy typically stopped by, but too early in the month for another munitions or supply run for the Brethren. She scrubbed her teeth and attempted to smooth her hair into a neat plait. She’d gotten more proficient at styling it herself, but still sometimes garnered a pitying look from Kaya before the younger woman bade her sit and let her fix it.

 

She didn’t fully believe she would find Billy outside chopping firewood until she actually did. Over the noise of the ax and his focus on his task, he didn’t notice her presence, which gave her a moment to quietly appreciate the sight he cut. Tall and muscular, the his shoulders flexed and strained against the rough homespun of his shirt. She had still not quite gotten used to the way he commanded an easy grace with just about every activity he undertook. Even something as simple as splitting firewood was beautiful.

 

He must have sensed her, or seen her in his periphery, because he stopped mid-swing and turned to face her, suddenly unsure of himself when just a moment ago he had been so very sure of what he was doing. “I’m sorry, I woke you.” He gestured lamely to the block. “It was here, I should have moved it…”

 

“It’s fine,” Abigail smiled easily at him. “Though, I think my supply is enough for several months.” The pile was indeed mountainous. 

 

He winced a little at it. She had a point. If she had more people living with her, people to cook for, more water to boil, it might not be so excessive. “The rainy season starts this week. It’ll be colder; you’ll be indoors more.” Yeah, that sounded right.

 

“Oh,” her voice squeaked and she pushed her palms against her skirts, flattening imaginary wrinkles. “Thank you for thinking of me, I might not have known until I was bogged down.”

 

“I’m surprised no one has mentioned it.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

 

Ah, so he had heard. It had been days since Trent’s request to call on her and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either man.

 

“I’ll make sure all this is covered so it stays dry,” he went on, saving her before she started babbling excuses about Trent. 

 

Not that she owed him an excuse. Since Trent’s overture, she had agonized over it, until angrily deciding that Billy had more than enough opportunity to make his intentions clear, or known, or anything at all. Instead, he continued to show up like clockwork, all business about the plantation and farm, or business from the Brethren. She wanted to believe this was his way of showing some manner of affection, but dammit, it had been months. At least Trent had the courtesy to declare himself.

 

She went inside and returned with a mug of cool water for him. He took it with a grateful nod and finished it in one long pull. The way his jaw and throat worked while drinking was more distracting than she cared to admit. She took the cup back and they were locked in a now familiar awkward silence. For the first time since he’d come back to Nassau, they were alone.

 

“I-” she started.

 

“We’ve got a run coming up,” he spoke over her, then winced when he realized he’d cut her off. She quirked her head, silently asking him to go on. “It’s over land, a little unusual for us, but too good to pass up.”

 

Abigail frowned and tried to derive his meaning. She’d found communication in Nassau was as rife with mixed and hidden messages as the circles in dame school. “Will you be gone long?”

 

“A week,” he shrugged. “Maybe more. Madi’s men are better this sort of thing; they’ll be taking the lead.”

 

“And they need you for this?” Billy hadn’t explicitly told her his role within the Brethren, but she’d pieced together for herself just how important he’d become. 

 

He flashed a bright white smile at her. He was always impressed by her ability to keep up with the subtleties of their games. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s important and I’d like to have my own eyes on its completion.”

 

Abigail hummed a noncommittal response and set the mug aside on her porch. His words struck her as strange, but she already knew Billy wouldn’t tell her more than absolutely necessary. 

 

“What’s wrong?” his voice brought her back out of her own thoughts.

 

“Nothing.” She couldn’t fake a smile with him and his raised brows at her response. She didn’t respond to his look except to take a deep breath and bite her lip. What could she possibly say? 

 

“Are you worried about us?” There was more than a dash of teasing in his voice.

 

She was a lord’s daughter for crying out loud, and would not be cornered, blushing and stammering. “Yes. And I believe I’ll miss you if you don’t come by next week.”

 

“Hm,” Billy looked down at his feet and sucked his teeth. Then he looked back at up her, with that same look of belayed hope he wore any time he actually managed to express himself. “You won’t be too busy with...him?”

 

Abigail could have laughed, but she didn’t think Billy could take it. He couldn’t even say the man’s name. “I don’t have any plans for the week at present, no.” He harrumphed and thumbed the ax, averting his eyes from her again. She couldn’t tell if he was pleased or more annoyed now, but tension was rolling off him in waves. He wanted to take action, but couldn’t bring himself to move. 

 

“ Goedemorgen, Minnares !” Kaya’s cheery voice broke through the humid morning air. 

 

“Sawubona, Kaya!” Abigail forced a pleasant greeting in return but sighed when she saw Billy grunt and return to his work. Whatever he wanted to say or do, he’d never do while they were chaperoned. 

 

She joined Kaya in the house and set to her own work for the day. There was nothing to do but wait until she could speak to him again, even if that meant waiting for him to get back this operation the Brethren had cooked up for him.

 

* * *

 

It was another three days before Trent came to call for the first time. Like all of their interactions, it was mostly silent, with brief spurts of his blunt, semi-insulting commentary. There were only so many activities in Nassau for a young, unsupervised couple that fell within the realm of propriety. Abigail suggested a walk along a quietly-trafficked, but lovely beach. He had frowned and even wrinkled his nose when she kicked off her shoes to walk in the sand. 

 

The conversation strayed into politics. Abigail was learning quickly that Trent’s interests were fairly limited to the navy and how the navy could support civil affairs, and not a whole lot else. She demurred as best she could, but Trent was not a creature easily deterred. When he returned her to her home, he took the liberty of kissing her hand before leaving. Like everything else about him, she found it cold and vaguely distasteful.

 

The next day, he took another liberty, but this was something Abigail could not allow.

 

She and Kaya were chatting quietly - she was doing well adapting to Kaya’s mix of Dutch and her native tongue - shucking peas. They had more than enough to send a boy with a full basket down to the market to sell. 

 

Kaya noticed them first. “ Bheka, het is de militie. ”  _ Look, it’s the militia _ . She frowned and set her basket aside.

 

It was not quite the militia, but lead by Trent, always in uniform, and they were all members of the militia, so Kaya’s observation wasn’t exactly wrong. They weren’t armed, but five men approaching her property unannounced presented a certain concern that had haunted the back of her mind since the resistance first began in full. 

 

“Good morning, Miss Ashe,” Trent called from the gate. 

 

Abigail stepped off the porch and walked to the gate, but didn’t open it. She was dressed for a day she expected to spend hard at work and in her surprise had forgotten to remove her shabby apron. Trent’s displeasure at her appearance was written all over his face. “Good morning.” Her eyes drifted over the motley assortment of men who had the audacity to declare they were anything other than pirates. “I am so sorry, Lieutenant, but I wasn’t expecting you.”

 

He took her meaning well enough. “My apologies, Miss Ashe, but I simply could not stand the thought of you having to employ rebels to maintain your plantation. I hoped that perhaps you would allow my men to meet your Mr. Kruse, get a lay of the land. I’m certain you’ll be pleased with their work and will be safer than with a bunch of pirates running loose so close to your home.”

 

Mr. Kruse ambled to her side, no doubt alerted by Kaya. No one in her household had any great love for England. Trent, true to his station, acknowledged the other man with little more than a look but waited for Abigail’s answer.

 

She knew if she asked it of him, Mr. Kruse would keep these men off her land, at great cost to his own person, their ability to do business, her relationship with the governor and possibly even the forfeiture of her property. Trent knew it, too. 

 

Mr. Kruse, ever her silent champion, followed her lead. When she stepped aside, he released the latch on the gate and admitted the men. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Kruse can escort you.”

 

Trent surprised her by jutting out a confident hand to Kruse, who shook it in return without hesitation. She wondered if she had judged him too harshly; if she was as unfair to him as her peers had been to her. He gave Mr. Kruse an overview of what he was looking to accomplish and they set off together, leaving Abigail to stew alone over the encounter. 

 

Later that evening, Lieutenant Pierce admitted the five-man detail who had accompanied him to Miss Ashe’s estate. Per his instructions, they had all maintained a diligent state of silent discretion throughout their investigation and the entire journey back until they prepared a formal report for him. 

 

He waited a beat as they stood around, shuffling their feet and folding their hats in their hands. “Proceed.”

 

Mr. Williams, a middling pudgy man who seldom found work on successful crews before Hornigold’s militia stood up, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Well, Sir, it’s as you said. The unworked land is overgrown, but there’s a trail tha’ leads down to a small dock. Water probably runs right out to the sea.”

 

“And you saw evidence it is being used?”

 

Williams looked for a few encouraging nods from his mates before confirming, “Yes, Sir. It’s well-traveled and there was a pram tied on.”

 

“And none of Mr. Kruse’s men gave any indication that they use the trail or the dock?”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“Hm.” Trent didn’t care for this. Miss Ashe was quite pretty and, if she wasn’t clearly supporting the Brethren, would make a fine bride. He liked her well enough. Courting her had been genuine, however short-lived. It seemed a waste, but his position came first. The intelligence she could provide would undoubtedly be critical, as would shutting down one of the Brethren’s smuggling thoroughfares. 

 

The other officers had been vexed over the matter of exactly how these men were staying comfortably armed and supplied with necessities despite the blockade until Trent had laughed out loud and stated the obvious. Miss Ashe had so successfully endeared herself to all of them, they were all reluctant to draw the clear conclusion that there could be nothing good or legal about the regular visits Billy Bones and other unpardoned pirates made to her land. 

 

As far as he was concerned, this confirmed it.

 

The third part of his plan could now move forward.

 

* * *

 

Billy was tired. Tired and angry. Ten days spent deep in the New Providence jungle for nothing but dead men and an aching wound in his hip. Dr. Howell would have to see to it before he caught a fever. 

 

Ten days for a false lead. He should have known the tip was too good to be true. They had confirmed, checked and triple-checked against their sources. Someone had worked hard to ensure they believed the information. 

 

That someone would be very disappointed that most of the Brethren’s men had emerged from the jungle and no members of the ambush had been so lucky. The bodies they identified were militiamen scrounged from the outskirts of Nassau. They weren’t even seasoned sailors, let alone the type of men to stand against the well-salted warriors Madi brought to the brotherhood. Rackham was consistently right about one thing: the English simply could not stop themselves from underestimating them. 

 

He was making his way back to the Barlow house to confer with the other leaders, and, God willing, rest. Maybe even wash. The number of horses tethered outside and lights coming from the house dampened his hopes for either prospect.

 

All talk ceased when he pushed the door open. The sheer number of people would have been enough to send up alarms, but the presence of Captain Flint, who preferred to remain on ship to stay wary of the blockade, and Mr. Kruse, stopped him.

 

“Oh good, they’re not dead.” Jack raised his glass to no one in particular.

 

Madi pushed back from her seat. “How many?” Right to the point. 

 

Silver gave a gruff order to fetch Dr. Howell, but Billy waved him off. “Have him see to the men outside first. I made it this far.” The effort of the fight then the hike back while wounded was rapidly catching up to him. He drug himself to the seat Silver offered, then began to unravel his tale for an audience that apparently already knew at least half the story. “Three dead.” He didn’t have the energy to look apologetic for Madi. “They waited until we were good and deep in the jungle, camped for the night, then launched their attack. Lucky for us, they were about as equipped for a fight as you’d expect a for bunch of farmers. What’s happened here?” He directed the question to Mr. Kruse, who had watched him with grim patience throughout the brief story.

 

“We intercepted an order,” Flint’s hoarse voice answered instead. “The Admiralty has commanded all of His Majesty’s ships leave Nassau within the week to confront Spain. The blockade will fall and only those loyal to the colonial militia will remain.”

 

“What the fuck does that have to do with sending us on a suicide mission?” Billy snapped. The cramped space within the house smelled of cigar smoke and sweat. From Mr. Kruse’s dark eyes boring into him and the angry tension permeating the room to the aching burn from the knife wound, Billy was feeling nauseous. 

 

Silver and Kruse exchanged a quick, silent look that had Billy tensing in his seat. “In anticipation of this,” Silver began carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, “Lieutenant Pierce made a number of strategic moves to strengthen the militia and the governor’s positions here, to include attempting to remove you, as well as, as many members of our brotherhood as possible, and he has taken Miss Ashe for questioning.”

 

It hit him harder than a stray cannonball. This was the dark, niggling fear that had lurked in his thoughts every time he saw her. It had made him grind his teeth and argue - loudly - after the shock wore off when she wildly suggested the Brethren make use of the small river cutting through her land. Flint wouldn’t look up from the table, but Billy had known and sailed with him long enough to read him like an open book. Outwardly he was cool, but his mouth was just a little too tight, his shoulders a little too drawn. The dark fury he usually spared only for thoughts of Thomas and Miranda Hamilton swirled in his eyes. 

 

“Where is she?” Billy was deadly calm. He didn’t need to ask why she’d been taken.

 

“We wait until the fleet leaves the harbor.” Flint still didn’t look up.

 

Billy stood up so fast a handful of pistols and swords were drawn around the room. Flint finally directed his gaze upward to let Billy confront him to his face. “Fuck. Waiting.”

 

Jack grimaced and waved a hand downward, the weapons followed. “How about we let cooler heads prevail, eh, Billy?”

 

“Fuck you, Jack.” His hand was on the hilt of his sword. His chest rose and fell too hard with each breath.

 

“Captain Flint is right,” Madi interjected. “We have been in conference since she was taken and we cannot afford to assault the entirety of the royal fleet. We must wait.”

 

Billy turned his attention back to Flint and pointed an accusing finger at the older man. “I helped you burn Charles Town to the fucking ground. Then I helped you murder magistrates and anyone who stood in our way all up and down the American coast, for  _ them _ .”

 

Flint didn’t break his gaze. “I haven’t forgotten.”

 

“Billy,” Silver eased his way back in, “if we don’t wait, we will have to launch our entire fleet. And we run the risk of losing multiple ships, God knows how many men, even Miss Ashe in the process. There’s a better way.”

 

Silver nudged the chair Billy had abandoned with his good foot. He reluctantly sat back down with a heavy thud. 

 

“Let’s get back to work,” Flint grumbled.

 

Jack clasped his hands together. “Ah yes, and let’s not burn all of New Providence down in the process, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Lieutenant Pierce shifted uncomfortably under Eleanor’s leonine gaze. He had never met a woman who made him feel so thoroughly unmanned. Governor Rogers seemed to have no problems handling her. He would have to consult with him privately about that.

 

She was seething at him. He could actually feel her rage like heat radiating off her directly to him. First had been the auspices of his meeting with Rogers, then had been his appearance: the bloody scratches down his cheek clearly came from a woman’s hand. A woman like Eleanor would assume he had provoked the situation.

 

He sat in silence while Rogers made notes, frowning, and Eleanor fumed at him. She fumed until she burst from it.

 

“Are you some kind of fucking idiot?”

 

“Eleanor!” Woodes’ scolding was halfhearted at best. 

 

“What?” She whirled on him. “Not only has he wrongly imprisoned one of our most prominent citizens, he’s provoked the entirety of the Brethren. If you think Captain Flint and Billy Bones will let this go unanswered, you’re as stupid as he is. They’ll torch every ship in the fucking harbor just to hurt you now.”

 

Pierce had the audacity to roll his eyes at her outburst. “Madame, frankly you and Governor Rogers are both fortunate Miss Ashe is the rebel I chose to interrogate. Your choice to allow the likes of Rackham and Bonny to walk free, in my opinion, makes you complicit in the ongoing plague of the Bahamas.”

 

Eleanor’s eyes and nostrils flared, fists balled at her sides. Woodes stopped her before she started with a silent mouthed “ _ No _ .” 

 

Woodes did, however, sit up straight at his desk and set his pen down, watching the young officer with a new appreciation for the man. “Lieutenant Pierce, I understand your zeal for halting piracy, but any situation in which lives and livelihoods are at stake is infinitely more complicated than to simply hang everyone who breaks the law. Rackham and Bonny are supremely well-liked, no longer of interest to Spain as they no longer possess their gold, and if I were to hang every criminal in Nassau, we wouldn’t have a colony left.”

 

Pierce laughed under his breath. “You sound just like him.” Woodes sat back, patiently waiting for him to continue. “Flint, that is. Frankly, I don’t care for it. I don’t believe everyone here is engaged in criminal pursuits. For all her charms and upbringing, Miss Ashe still chose to consort with pirates. She chose to support the Brethren and their cause. She even supported an active smuggling ring. How can we expect any rule of law, any civilization to take root, if we let them redefine the laws however it suits them and their baser needs?”

 

“What happened to your face, Lieutenant?” Eleanor cocked her head and sucked her teeth. Baser needs, indeed.

 

A muscle in his jaw twitched but he wouldn’t be cowed by a woman. “Miss Ashe did not care for being asked to stay on the  _ Antilles _ for questioning.”

 

“After being at the hands of people like Ned Lowe and Charles Vane, I’d imagine not,” Woodes attempted again to rein Eleanor back. If he wasn’t careful, she’d probably beat him to death with her bare hands in his office. That would be a tricky one to explain to the Admiralty. 

 

Pierce shifted in his seat. “If you are questioning my treatment of Miss Ashe…”

 

Eleanor snorted but Woodes spoke. “I’m certain you are behaving exactly as would be expected of a gentleman of your rank and position. However, as the regional governor, I will need to see the girl for myself. In case she presses any legal complaints, it will be important, you understand.”

 

“Of course.” Pierce was too confident. “You need only see my men at the dock and they will see you aboard. No need to call ahead.”

 

After he left, Eleanor was still fuming.

 

Woodes looked up over his work at her. “Don’t worry, we’re of like mind.”

 

“If he hurts her, this whole island will revolt.”

 

“I know.” He finished penning his missive. “That is why I am working fast.”

 

* * *

 

  
Abigail didn’t look up when the guard slid a plate of food toward her before quietly leaving just as he’d entered. She kept herself as small as she could, huddled under the desk where Trent had left her in irons. It was hard to tell where her fear stopped and the humiliation started.

 

She didn’t even rate the dignity of a locked cabin.   
  


They came like clockwork to give her food and dump the chamber pot. In three days, they were the only men to enter or leave the cabin. That gave her plenty of time to stew over all the horrible things that might happen to her. Hanging had been Trent’s primary suggestion, though the way he’d grabbed her and pressed his body to hers before she took a swipe at him offered other awful alternatives.   
  


Her violent rejection of his advance had earned her this new position, chained to the foot of his desk like an animal. The brig was “unsuitable for a lady” and she got a chiding about making a bed she must sleep in a tone that would have made her teachers proud. Now she struggled to stay awake, fighting off sleep at every turn. When she drifted off, her mind flooded with images of Ned Lowe’s dead eyes, and his laughter as he let his crew pass her around like a piece of meat just to show her he could. “If your father doesn’t pay, we’ll still get our money’s worth out of you, little bird,” he breathed hot and hard into her ear.   
  


Trent had taken on the same wild quality, which genuinely shocked her. He was so distant and restrained whenever she’d seen him before, even his hands felt chilly. When he had her brought to him for questioning, she thought little of it. Everything he did was so formal, why should this be any different? She knew what they’d seen on her property and what he would ask her about, but having a private dock and employing locals for extra help were not yet crimes in Nassau.     
  


After a few murmured “no’s” and noncommittal answers, he laughed in her face. Trent Pierce had had enough. “You know, I really wanted to believe that you were just naïve.” His mouth ticked up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “If you were naïve, then you could be brought back into the fold. I could marry you, we’d both be better for it. We’d have the money to refit another ship and even show these fucking pirates they can’t keep their filthy hands on  _ anything _ English.”   
  


Her breathing grew labored. She started to stand and object to his coarse language and behavior, but he was behind her with a hand on her shoulder, shoving her back into the chair. “We’re not done yet, Miss Ashe.” He stepped around the chair, leaning a lazy hip against his desk. His hand moved from her shoulder to push a lock of hair from her face. “You keep a bed with Billy Bones, and you’re not leaving until I know everything you know.”   
  


Abigail’s mouth fell open. She gaped up at him in askance. “I don’t -“   
  


“You don’t have to be coy with me,” he cut her off, his fingers gripped her chin too hard. “I can make this better for you. I can see to it that you don’t hang for piracy along with them.”   
  


She jerked her head away and shoved herself sideways out of the chair and his reach, nearly falling in the process. As she stumbled to her feet, vice-like hands snatched her by her shoulders and whipped her around to face him, before he shoved her back against the bulkhead. His hands found her waist, bruising everything he touched and then his body was on hers, his mouth scalding just over her neck. “Is this what you want?” When she whimpered and tried to get away, he only clamped down harder. “A few rounds with the likes of Lowe and Vane gave you a taste for this sort of thing? Oh, I’ve known a few women like you, no better than a dockside tro-“   
  


His words twisted into a snarl as her fingers dug across his cheek, cutting a bloody trail. They both froze and stared at each other in horror for a moment before his rage overtook him. The back of his hand cracked against her face and she was sent reeling to the floor. The next thing she knew, two militiamen were shackling her in irons while Pierce declared her hysterical and a danger to herself.

  
She hissed with pain when she lifted her hands to reach for the plate and the weight of the irons dug into the raw, bloody abrasions she’d rubbed into herself during her first day of captivity. Perhaps Trent was right about being a danger to herself.   
  


The single boiled potato was growing cold already, but it might help her stay awake a few minutes longer. A glance up toward the windows showed only darkness. For all she knew, Trent had her on midnight rations only. She had lost track of the day and hour during her initial distress.   
  


Her waking hours gave her plenty of time to think. It took almost all of her effort to keep her mind from wandering down dark paths, reliving her worst memories and imagining nightmare possibilities for her future.   
  


At first, she had imagined a rescue coming. Every scratch at the door sent her scrambling to her knees, desperate to see a friendly face bursting in any moment. But each hour passed, and then days passed, without rescue. She even thought she’d heard the sound of a fleet in the harbor, with all the whistles and calls and flapping canvas sails, but the sounds had faded to silence and she was, yet again, still left chained up on the  _ Antilles _ .   
  


In her daydreams, her rescue, of course, came in the form of Billy, bursting through the door and sweeping her away. It made no sense, to be sure. The ship was never less than half-manned. Whatever strange loyalty Flint had toward her would not push him into the stupidity of starting a war for her, certainly not with the approval of the entire brotherhood. Captain Teach most definitely wouldn’t give two figs about her fate but would care very much about the fate of his crew and his ships. She was friendly with Madi and John Silver, but that didn’t warrant mounting a dangerous rescue. That left only Billy with any chance he might be driven to something reckless for her. Even that she doubted in her darkest turns.

 

Though at the moment, chewing on the dry, cold potato, she felt sure. The confidence surged in her, warm and bright like a sunny day. It had been a warm day, still early enough to be pleasantly cool, when Billy’s hands had stopped hers in the dirt of her small farm. “Those aren’t ready yet,” he smiled at her, all bright white teeth in a halo of golden sunlight. 

 

Her face fell and her shoulders slumped. “I never know when they’re ripe. I pulled up a whole row of  potatoes that weren’t fit to eat last week.”

 

Billy chuckled but restrained himself when her face remained stormy. “It’s easy.” He took a quick stock of the neat rows and found what he was looking for. “The tops should look like this.”

 

She followed and sank to her knees in the dirt next to him. She ran a hand over the dry, brown root tops and frowned. “Aren’t these dead?”

 

He sank a large hand into the dirt and came back up with a large, ripe, brown potato. He proffered it out to her with a bright grin. “See? When the tops go bad, that’s when you know.”

 

Abigail took it, cradling it in her hands, and then let out a reluctant laugh. “I’ve been eating green potatoes for weeks because I was too embarrassed to ask. How do you even know this?”

 

Billy sat back on his haunches, and pressed his lips together, watching her with a hint of amusement. “I wasn’t always a sailor, you know.” She tilted her head curiously at him. “My parents were agitators, but we had to eat. My father showed me how to tend a garden.”

 

His eyes fell away from her and his brightness faded a bit. Every now and again he mentioned his family and life before being pressed into service. It always brought a dark shadow over him. Her heart sank, she hadn’t meant to make him sad, at least not over potatoes. She reached a hand out to his, which he took, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. 

 

Something twinkled in his gaze and before she knew it, he smeared a streak of dark, wet soil across her nose and cheek with his other hand. Abigail stared up at him, stunned, before bursting into giggles and flinging a handful of dirt back at him. He raised an arm in a half-hearted defense, laughing with her.

 

Abigail finished her potato, chewing over the memory and clinging to it. His refusal to see her alone notwithstanding, he would come for her. She would not swing over the town square like Charles Vane had, and no one on this ship would put hands on her again. 

 

Voices at the door startled her. They would be back for her plate, but they weren’t usually this noisy. The door swung open and she froze, taken aback by the three figures that filed into the room.

 

“As you can see,” Trent sighed, “she went hysterical when I brought her in for an interview. She attempted to assault me, then made attempts on her own life. I thought it best to restrain her here for the time being, where she can be safely observed and can’t hurt herself further.”

 

Woodes Rogers appeared unmoved. A sharp intake of breath and flared eyes revealed Eleanor’s thoughts on the situation. 

 

Abigail locked eyes with Trent, and three days of terror, anger and exhaustion boiled over. She surged to her feet with a strangled scream, only to be yanked back down by the too-short chains. The three jumped, startled by her outburst and Trent shrugged apologetically. “It is exactly as I said.”

 

“Leave me with her,” Eleanor commanded without looking at Pierce.

 

The officer recoiled and smirked. “Miss Guthrie, with all due respect…”

 

“All due respect nothing,” she whirled. “Let me have a moment with the girl. It’s the least you can do after the way she’s been treated.”

 

Woodes nodded. “Indeed, perhaps Eleanor can reason with her while we discuss the finer points of this situation above deck.”

 

Pierce cast a wary gaze between them and Abigail. He had authority on this ship, but Rogers was the territorial governor. He would need to pick his battles carefully. With silent consent, he opened the door to escort Rogers back to the main deck. 

 

The door clicked shut and Eleanor dropped all pretense. She marched to Abigail, fishing a manacle key out of her skirts. “Can you swim?”

 

Abigail swayed on her knees. All at once, Eleanor seemed to be moving too fast. It was too much for her to process. The irons fell away, but Eleanor caught them before they could thud and draw attention. “Can you swim?” She repeated the question with more force. Abigail nodded.

 

Eleanor was on her feet again, now opening one of the large windows. She brought a lantern to the window, covered and uncovered it three times, before setting it on a nearby table and returning her attention to Abigail. She winced at the younger woman, still struggling to stand and offered an arm. “You’ll need to remove your petticoats.”

 

“What?” Abigail finally croaked a response to the flurry of blonde activity in the form of Eleanor Guthrie.

 

Eleanor slid her hands around the waist of Abigail’s skirt and began the work of unfastening the heavy material without permission. “They’ll weigh you down, and you need to swim fast.” The underclothes pooled at her feet.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Eleanor hardened, her eyes flickering to the open window. “I rescued you once for the good of this island, I’ll do it again.”

 

Abigail followed her eyes to the window and her stomach did a flip. “I can’t...I can’t climb out there. I can’t swim all that way by myself.”

 

Eleanor huffed, even looked a shade amused. “Who said you’ll be doing all this by yourself?”

 

They both turned toward the window at the thump, followed by the large hand on the windowsill. She knew it was him before he pulled himself up. From the breadth of his hand to the leather wrap at his wrist, the muscles offset by water rivulets running down his arms, his dripping wet head only confirmed what she already knew.

 

He grunted with the effort of climbing up the back of the ship, still focused on getting through the window when Abigail rushed forward. “Billy!”

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Eleanor hissed and Abigail came up short with a hand over her mouth. “If they hear us and this turns into a fight, neither I nor Woodes can stop what will come next.”

 

Billy swung a long leg over the windowsill and paused long enough to drink in the sight of Abigail, dirty, tired but alive, before him. A beat later, she was in his arms, oblivious to his ocean-soaked clothes. He cradled her head in his hand, the other splayed across her back, whispering meaningless words of comfort. She was shaking, but not crying, something Eleanor probably thanked God for.

 

“You have to go,  _ now _ ,” Eleanor snapped, barely above a whisper. 

 

Billy gently pushed Abigail from his embrace. He caught sight of the bruise on her cheek and the bloody abrasions on her wrists. Something inside him cracked open. He was on his feet, vision fading to red, making his way toward the door before he realized what he was doing.

 

Eleanor skidded to a halt in front of him, her hands on his chest. “Now is not the fucking time, Billy.” Her voice and her nearness stilled him long enough to clear the red clouds of rage. “You cannot help her if you’re dead.”

 

He gritted his teeth and swallowed the impulse to correct this wrong right here and now. He pulled the length of rope looped over his shoulders like a seasoned rigger and returned to the window, tying off their escape route. Abigail had to shake her head. She’d wrapped herself around him as tight as she could and hadn’t even noticed the heavy ropes.

 

He sent one leg back out the window, then turned back to Abigail and held a hand out to her. “C’mon.”

 

She was struck with deja vu. The last time he had offered his hand this way had been in Savannah at the magistrate’s house. He had the same look of grim seriousness and worry written on his face. As Abigail approached, he turned his attention back to Eleanor. “This isn’t fucking over, you know that, right?”

 

Eleanor only rolled her eyes and muttered, “ _ Go _ already.”

 

Abigail froze at the window, but Billy had her hand in his and his other hand on the small of her back. “Just sit on the sill and put your feet here,” he tipped his head toward the wooden ledge he rested his own foot on. “Hold on up here,” he guided her hands to another ledge over the window. Billy didn’t remove his hands from her waist until she was securely in place. “Hold yourself for just a moment.”

 

Next to her, he shuffled himself out the window. The salt air blew her hair and skirts into a messed tangle. The wood under her fingers was moist, probably all the time. She never would have considered herself particularly strong, but being locked up and fed next to nothing for three days left her more unsteady than she might have been. Her palms were getting sweatier by the moment and she didn’t dare look down at the black, choppy water below. 

 

“Alright,” Billy kept his voice low. He held out his free hand to her and kept his other tight on the rope. “I need you to hang onto my shoulders.”

 

The space between her and his hand wavered into a vast expanse. One false step and she’d be tumbling into the water, hurting herself and alerting the entire ship of their attempted escape. “Abigail, you can do it,” Billy said, pushing his feet against the bulkhead to get closer to her. She swallowed her fear and reached her hand out to his, letting him gently, slowly ease her back across the ledge until he could slide his arm around her waist. Abigail studied his body, her brow drawn in confusion as to how she’d navigate the next part. “You’re just going to have to throw a leg over and hang on. I’m not going to let you fall, sweetheart.” 

 

His voice was firm and steady, like the arm encircling her waist, pressing her into his torso. The haze from her captivity and sudden release cleared: she never felt safer than when she was with him. She slid one arm over his broad shoulder, took a deep breath, then followed with her legs around his waist. His long arm followed under her leg until she breathlessly confirmed that she had a good hold, then he had both hands on the rope and was slowly walking them down the back of the ship.

 

“Just like being a kid on your father’s shoulders, right?” It took him a little too much effort to crack the joke. Hand under hand, foot under foot.

 

She buried her face his neck to stifle the desperate, sleep-deprived snort of laughter. “You clearly didn’t actually meet my father in Charles Town.”

 

The cool water lapped at the hem of her soiled dress, then rose until they were both submerged enough for her to release him without causing a splash. Billy was, of course, comfortably treading water, but Abigail struggled. She seldom had occasion to swim, less so this deep in a heavy garment. He ventured a look back up at the ship and saw no reason to panic. 

 

“C’mon.” Under the water, his hand found her waist again, pulling her back to him as he began a steady, quiet sidestroke toward the shore. Every time she attempted to kick or paddle, she seemed to throw off his steady rhythm more than help, so she gave up and settled her head against his chest, letting him carry her along. 

 

The water splashed against her face, but it felt only cleansing, like it was wiping away the past three days. She didn’t even register the sting of saltwater against the wounds on her wrists. Abigail was, at least for the moment, safe. 

 

They slowed and he lowered his legs, but the water was still so deep it covered his shoulders. A few more yards and they were both walking, struggling through the small, crashing waves. Abigail almost lost her footing in the surf, but Billy was right there every step. They finally made their way up the shore, sodden and cold. Billy held her hand clasped tight, marching steadily onward into the darkened jungle.

 

He stopped when she gave a gentle tug against his forward momentum. The past day had been a blur of activity, punctuated with having to actively stop himself from stealing off to the  _ Antilles _ and taking her back by force. He didn’t trust Rogers, he especially didn’t trust Eleanor or any parlay they offered.  He hadn’t felt any confidence about their plan until this very moment. Every second of pulling Abigail from that cabin, down the ship and swimming to shore had been an eternity: which moment would be the one that the alarm would sound and they’d both be dead? But here they both stood on the dark, empty beach. She was drenched, shivering and so very small. 

 

Abigail hugged her arms around herself against the sudden cold of being soaked to the bone and out in the open. She looked beyond Billy into the imposing jungle. She trusted him blindly, but she was beyond tired. “Where are we going?” Her voice cracked from swallowed seawater.

 

Understanding flashed across Billy’s face and eased back to her. “We secured a little house. No one knows about it but the Brethren. We’ll stay there a few days until they send for us, that’s when it’ll be safe to take you home. It’s not far,” he tossed a look back into the overgrowth. “I know the way.”

 

“You’ll stay with me?”

 

Something tightened in Billy’s chest. “I won’t leave you.”

 

Abigail stopped shivering, bolstered herself and started off in the direction Billy had originally been leading her. With a small smile she didn’t see, Billy stepped off at her side, leading the way.

 

It was a long walk, longer than she anticipated. Of course, she reasoned that her perspective might be distorted. She was already fatigued and hungry, and without any clue where they were going, the journey down the damp, overgrown trail seemed to drag on in dark silence. She had so many questions to ask him, but it took all of her energy and focus to keep up with his long strides.

 

He pushed through a swath of palm fronds and held them away from her, and a tiny cottage materialized. It was pitch dark inside, covered in vines and ferns and all manner of growth, but fresh cuttings through the most excess of the plant life, a small stack of wood and a few barrels of fresh water indicated that someone had been there recently. Billy was stepping around her and into the house while she remained frozen, chewing her lip and studying the exterior. 

 

Candlelight sputtered to life in the window and Billy was back outside scooping up a few logs. When he saw her still rooted in place, his lips pursed and brow furrowed. “You’ve got fresh clothes inside. I’ll give you privacy to change. You don’t have to worry.” 

 

Abigail took a deep breath and forced herself to move past Billy’s looming, increasingly concerned countenance. One of her own trunks sat next to the small bed. She palmed through it, feeling strange and out of place in this tiny, one-room house. “Who…?”

 

“Kaya packed it for you.” He responded from the small stove, stoking the smaller flames. He turned to see her clutching a robe, face drawn and crestfallen. “They’re all fine,” he said quickly. 

 

He nodded to himself and stepped outside to let her change. He spent more time outside than necessary, but was far too nervous to risk walking in on her in a compromising position and making her feel worse and more trapped than she already had been. By the time he re-entered the little dwelling - a shack that perhaps had once been used as a stopping point for merchants crossing the interior of the island before better routes came into use - she was fully asleep on the bed. She looked like she had only intended to sit, but couldn’t resist the siren’s call of sleep a moment longer. 

 

At first, he smiled, a small, closed turning of his lips. After the past few days, it was a blessing to see her safe and relaxed, looking so peaceful. Then he saw her shoes still on her feet, her hair still in salt water-crusted tangles and those awful abrasions on her wrists. Billy moved as silently and gently as possible, taking the liberty of removing her shoes and pulling a blanket over her. 

 

Billy took a seat on the straw pallet on the ground at the opposite end of the room. This whole plan had seemed royally fucked as far as he could tell, but he hadn’t been able to offer better alternatives. At least this way he knew she was safe. Gunn would come and get them when Rogers and the Brethren secured their deal, and Pierce was no longer an immediate danger. His blood boiled at the thought that someone else might be the one to put Pierce down, or worse, that Pierce might weasel his way out of the Caribbean untouched. 

 

Oh no, that was not going to happen. Pierce was going to pay for his spectacular showing at further destabilizing the situation in Nassau, and managing to piss off the territorial governor and rebellion leadership in one fell swoop. Rogers couldn’t afford to have his leadership over the island fragmented by some arrogant officer with no oversight, even less experience and something to prove. Neither party could afford what would happen to New Providence Island if and when the Spanish caught wind of their internal disarray. 

 

The idiot had made himself the common enemy. More importantly, he had done it all in the most cowardly fashion imaginable. Billy was going to enjoy answering this slight. 

 

Abigail slept through the night in fits and starts. With every toss and turn, every whimper and cry, Billy’s resolve solidified. 

 

Trent Pierce was a fucking dead man.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“Just a little bit further,” Billy urged Abigail on.

 

After a cold breakfast of bread and cheese, and a drink Billy insisted was coffee “how they make it on the ship,” Billy had turned a peculiar shade of pink, then asked if Abigail would like to bathe.

 

Abigail first panicked with embarrassment - how badly could she look and smell after three days on a boat and a midnight swim for him to ask that? After that, she panicked a little more when she took a quick stock of their little abode and realized there was no tub, and the fresh water barrels were certainly not enough to provide both a bath and drinking water. She made a choked sound, struggling for the right words.

 

“Kaya said you’d want that,” Billy cleared his throat and made himself busy putting the food back away. It was a slight lie. He’d reminded Kaya to pack whatever Miss Ashe might need to bathe because he knew firsthand how uncomfortable it felt to sit around in your own filth and crusted salt. Kaya had practically hissed at him that she was already doing it, having her own experience with that feeling. Then she stormed up to him with an impressively threatening finger on such a small woman, promising him pain worse than death if she found out he took advantage of the situation.

 

Billy believed her. If Kaya didn’t do it herself, Jackson Kruse would certainly help. For a woman who had been so thoroughly rejected by her own people, Abigail had made quite the little family for herself in Nassau, including a mess of pirates who all seemed to agree they owed her their protection.

 

She was still sitting at the battered two-person table looking confused. “There’s um,” Billy swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat, “there’s a small freshwater lagoon not far from here. It’s fed by a waterfall, runs out over down the hills, so it’s clean water.”

 

“Oh.” It came out softer than she intended. This was a problem she’d never faced before and given Billy’s fidgeting, it was new to him, too. She had been taken prisoner not once but three times now, survived multiple battles, started a business and even taken part in smuggling. She was nothing if not a woman up to new challenges.

 

Now they were back to wandering through the New Providence jungle. Billy carried the small bundle she’d packed - a towel, fresh clothes, a bar of soap. He’d taken it from her wordlessly as soon as they left the cottage.

 

The sound of water was getting louder, overpowering the insects and wildlife that created a cacophony this far from the more civilized parts of the island.

 

“Here we are.” Billy stepped aside to let her pass. It was a nice little spot, and incredibly convenient. He wouldn’t have to worry about running out of water for any reason. Billy realized belatedly that Abigail was standing by the pool, chewing on her bottom lip. “Right, um,” he thrust her bundle at her and turned away. “I’ll be over...here, shout if you need anything.” He gestured vaguely back the way they’d come.

 

By the time he cut a shoot of wild sugar cane to chew on and sat on the ground, he heard the first break in the water discordant with the steady flow from the small waterfall that fed the pond. He took a hard bite on the plant, trying to his damndest to concentrate on the taste of the cane and not wonder exactly what Abigail might look like at this exact moment. He wanted to smack himself almost every time he spoke to her. Surely, if Mr. Gates was still alive, he’d have smacked him by now. She managed to reduce him to a blushing, stuttering boy more often than he cared to admit.

 

He was a pirate, for chrissakes, and a damn good one. He’d had women, though not as many as his mates, and hadn’t been this nervous around one since Gates took him to the brothel for the first time. Billy told himself it was because Abigail was a lady, or at least had been, and would have been out of his league no matter what path his life had taken.

 

Abigail coming to Nassau presented an unexpected problem for him: he knew she would let him in, but he also knew he would be the final nail in the coffin that was _this_ life for her. Abigail could get her affairs sorted and still return, or at least make a better life in a better colony. She would not have that option if she entangled herself with someone like Billy Bones. More importantly, Billy wasn’t sure he’d be able to let her go.

 

His head jerked back toward the pond when he heard a quiet whimper. He was on his feet when he heard another, and moving quickly when the quiet whimper turned into a louder cry of frustration and pain.

 

Abigail sat on a large, flat submerged rock in the surprisingly deep lagoon. Here it was up to her waist, so she felt less exposed in her thin chemise. She’d started with a rinse, then rubbed soap over every part of her face and body she could reach. Finally, she got to her hair. It had grown long and wild since she came to Nassau, but at the moment it was a long, matted mess.

 

Every attempt at running the brush through any knot or lock of hair only made her more frustrated. Every failed attempt reminded her of how little she could help herself. She couldn’t even get dressed properly without a maid. What had she been thinking, trying to run a business? She’d had every opportunity to retire to a small country house. No matter what she did, how she approached the problem, she still ended up in shackles at some maniac’s mercy.

 

She ripped her comb savagely through her hair. Whatever soap she’d used hadn’t been enough, or she just wasn’t being patient. The comb tore at her hair and she even broke off a few wooden bristles. Her shoulders shook with strangled noises somewhere between cries and sobs. When she ripped the comb free, she bent it in her hands, struggling against its solid construction before crying out and throwing it into the brush. It didn’t go far.

 

She sank her hands into her hair and started pulling at the roots. The pain felt solid and malleable, something she could control. Pieces were breaking off in her hands. The more force she could muster, the more it burned and stung.

 

Abigail didn’t notice the splashing, but she did notice when she was out of the water in Billy’s arms.

 

She was too bewildered to speak, her hands flying to cover herself, but his eyes were busy scanning the water. “What’s wrong? Was there a snake? Did you get bit?”

 

When she didn’t respond, he finally looked at her. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, searching him, unsure. There clearly wasn’t anything in the water. “Sorry, I heard...I thought maybe you got hurt.” Abigail continued to stare up at him, silent and shaking, her hands clutched at her chest. Billy slowly realized he was still standing up to his knees in water, holding her. He made a dissatisfied noise and set her on her feet on the dirt shore. He fetched her towel and held it out without looking at her.

 

It left his hand, followed by a small, “Thank you.”

 

By wordless agreement, they made their way back to the cottage. She sat in a damp heap on one of the two dilapidated wooden chairs, still wrapped like a cocoon in the large towel. Abigail wasn’t aware of what Billy was doing until a large tan hand held out a tin mug for her.

 

Abigail took it and caught a strong whiff of alcohol before she took a drink. At her recoil, Billy raised his own mug. “Just rum. Thought you could use a drink.”

 

“I’ve never had it before.” Abigail pondered the cup in her hands, then shrugged and took a tentative sip. Billy snorted when she sputtered and gasped. “It burns.”

 

Billy grinned into his drink. “You get used to it.”

 

Abigail took another sip, and then another, letting the drink warm her from the inside out. “I apologize, you shouldn’t have seen that outburst.”

 

Billy took another pull from his own mug, finishing it. He could butcher just about any animal for meat, mend his own clothes, navigate without assistance, climb any rigging, lay down accurate fire with any canon, rifle or pistol, and even make tactical decisions that put Flint to shame.

 

But comforting a woman was new.

 

He bent down on one knee before her, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I know what it’s like, Abigail. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

 

Billy’s face held something raw and honest, not unlike the beverage he’d offered her. “I thought it was over.” She took another sip. “I thought I _finally_ had some measure of control over my own life, but I’m still just a thing they can take and use and throw away whenever it suits them.”

 

It was probably inappropriate, but they were way past propriety, so Billy sank a hand into her slowly drying hair, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “You are not a thing.” She started to turn her head away but he pulled her back. “No, listen to me, you are not a thing. Men do awful shit to each other, you can’t help that. But you have people here, good people who care about you.”

 

Abigail brought a hand up to cover his. “Thank you.”

 

Billy shifted to his other knee and drew himself incrementally closer. “I can’t promise it’s not going to happen again, but I swear to God, no one is ever going to try without consequence again. Pierce is going to pay for this. I’m just sorry it took so long to get you out of there.”

 

Abigail turned her face into his hand on her cheek and pressed her lips against it in a soft kiss. “I knew you’d come.”

 

Every argument he had as to why he had no business putting his hands on this woman evaporated in an instant. He pulled her face to his, their noses brushing and lips just grazing without full contact. His nearness, his strength, the familiar scent of sweat, ocean air and hemp rope that always followed him, it all made her feel safe and wanted. They’d drifted into each other’s orbits and never left, slowly circling closer and closer, and unable to leave.

 

She ventured closer, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss that sent electricity coiling in her core. Billy answered with a sharp breath and had an arm around her, pulling her flush to him. He deepened the kiss, groaning with the sensation of her soft body against his, her malleable lips warm and wet and open for him.

 

Her tin mug clattered and splashed to the floor, only half-noticed by either of them, when she brought a hand to his chest, digging into his shirt, and her other hand fisting into his short golden hair. The hand on her back covered more area than she thought possible, and she could feel the barely-restrained strength pressing into her flesh. She was nearly out of her seat as they both worked to get closer to each other. His hand drifted lower, gripping her hip and thigh, a place she didn’t know she enjoyed being touched but God if it wasn’t making her head spin.

 

Abigail teased a tongue into his mouth, which he met voraciously. The noises she was making were sending him over the edge. It had been too long, just a few stolen kisses before he set hard boundaries for himself, designed to avoid this exact scenario. He wanted her too much. It distracted him when she wasn’t around, and it was downright exhausting when she was. When she smiled at him, he wasn’t up to his neck in shit and piracy. He wanted her to smile. He wanted to be the one to make her smile and feel good. Judging from her tiny fingers grasping at him, now taking a more adventurous exploration of his shoulders and chest, and the sounds she was making, he was successful.

 

In a swirl of motion not unlike how he’d pulled her from the lagoon, Abigail found herself in his arms for a beat before he lowered her onto the bed. Her head was spinning like a top and Billy felt like the only anchorage in a storm. Her fingers laced behind his head and she was pulling him down with her, their lips parting only to find better purchase on each other. When he braced over her, he stilled. He was no longer kissing her back.

 

“What…?” Abigail struggled to articulate anything at all.

 

Billy’s eyes were dark with lust and uncertainty. He brushed a curling lock of hair away from her face with a shaky hand. “I can’t promise you anything.”

 

It took her a beat to catch his meaning. “Marriage has been off the table for me since Ned Lowe.”

 

“That’s just not true.” He sat back, letting his hands drift down her legs. She was still mostly covered by the towel, but he could feel the heat radiating off her skin and he wanted to be warm. His mouth felt very, very dry. “I don’t know how this is all going to end. I don’t even know what’s going to happen tomorrow.” He took her hand and turned it over in his palm, running a light touch over the abrasion on her wrist. “You already got hurt because of your association with me.”

 

Abigail took her hand back and pushed herself up on her elbows. “Spend ten minutes with Lieutenant Pierce. He was looking for a reason to hurt me and would have found one regardless.”

 

“I don’t ever want to be that reason.” Billy was solemn and intense.

 

“I chose to come here, Billy. I could have stayed in the Carolinas and lived out my life, quiet and comfortable, but I didn’t. You said yourself I built a life here with people who care about me. I know you care for me. I can’t see what’s so wrong about that.”

 

Billy’s eyes flickered from her face, down her body then back up to her face again. His tongue darted out to his lips and he was looking at her in a way that made her extremely aware of her state of undress. “You and me, we cross this line, there’s no going back.”

 

The quirked brow and playful lilt to her lips was all the answer he needed. No shit there was no going back, there hadn’t been for a long time.

 

In one fluid movement, he was back, braced over her, their mouths locked together in a tongue-clashing kiss. His hand burned a trail from her knee all the way up to her ribs, where he stopped long enough to unwrap the towel, revealing the damp chemise clinging to her skin underneath.

 

Abigail’s hips rocked against his, the delicious friction of his hardness sent her gasping into his mouth. Between Maggie, and then a significantly more informed Max, all of Abigail’s puritanical dame school education and whispered gossip about what exactly went on between a man and woman had long been dispelled. The reality of Billy’s weight on her, his work-roughened hands searing her skin, his short scruff of a beard now burning against her neck, where he was alternately sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, was all so much more than she’d imagined. In truth, she hadn’t fully believed either Maggie or Max. She didn’t think either woman would lie to her, but she also didn’t understand how it was possible to feel so much all at once.

 

When he palmed her breast, working the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, she saw stars. A low chuckle rumbled through his throat, vibrating from his lips against the skin at her neck. Abigail was grasping at his shirt, tugging it free from his belt and trousers. She felt clumsy, stumbling forward toward something she needed but couldn’t name.

 

Abigail’s fingers skimmed under his shirt, making contact with the hard planes of muscle from his hips up to his stomach. Billy’s breath caught in his throat and, damn it all, the muscles twitched and jumped under her light touch. Her hands froze, and then she giggled. “Mr. Manderly, are you ticklish?”

 

Billy tore himself away with a growl to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. He was about to issue a retort reminding her exactly which of them would have the upper hand if she really wanted to start a tickle war, but when he looked back down at her, she was biting her lip, staring up at him with eyes that had gone nearly black.

 

She frowned and pouted when she saw the stitching Dr. Howell had left behind, only just peeking out from under his belt. She brushed her fingers lightly over it, and his skin and muscles jumped again in response. “It’s nothing,” he spoke in a rushed whisper. The look on her face said that she didn’t believe him, but she was also profoundly distracted by the sight he presented over her. She had seen her male peers at their sports, she had dutifully studied art; the male form was not a mystery to her. Yet, none of it compared to him.

 

Her fingers danced lower to his belt, and, in an instant, they were both fumbling with it. He gave up and returned to kissing her and tangling his hands in her hair while she worked his belt free. Following his lead, Abigail ventured her lips along Billy’s jawline and down his neck. She smiled and continued trying new things with her lips and teeth and tongue when the hand fisted in her hair tightened and Billy breathed, “Oh, _fuck_.”

 

Billy traced his other hand up her leg, slowly working up the hem of Abigail’s chemise. He ducked his head, reluctantly breaking the contact between the sensitive skin at his throat and her increasingly skilled mouth, directing his attentions to her collarbone, pushing the shoulder of her garment off her arm. The maneuver left her exposed for only a moment before his lips captured her nipple. Every new touch and kiss and nip stoked the fire curling from her toes to her most intimate of places.

 

She raked her nails across the broad expanse of his shoulders and writhed beneath him. The soft keening moans she was making and her soft body rocking into him, that pert, perfect breast enjoying his attention, were more intoxicating than any drink he’d come across. It took every ounce of willpower in his body to restrain himself when all he wanted was to drive into her, claiming her in the most savage way imaginable and finally tasting the parts of her he’d dreamed of since first laying eyes on her.

 

His hand completed its journey up her leg, teasing at the delicate, wet folds he found. Abigail stiffened and Billy immediately halted, raising his heavy-lidded eyes up to find her wide, uncertain gaze. He lifted himself back up to her, pressing his forehead against hers. “Trust me,” his voice was thick. “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.” _I’ll have to throw myself into the fucking ocean_ , Billy acknowledged internally.

 

After a moment’s hesitation - a breath that, for Billy, stretched into eternity - Abigail nodded rapidly and took his mouth in a hard kiss. _Thank Christ_. She broke off with a gasp as he slipped a finger inside her. He watched the swirl of unmasked reactions play across her face in wonder as her mouth quivered and struggled to form some manner of coherent speech. Her hips started rocking against his hand and he continued his ministrations, curling inside her and using the flat of his palm to rub at the sensitive apex of her body.

 

Abigail couldn’t stop reaching for more of him. Everywhere their skin touched sent ripples of pleasure that made her heart stutter and stumble. What he was doing between her legs was nearly unbearable and her body screamed for more. Between that and his lips blazing a path back down her throat, past her collarbone and lower, she felt she was coming apart at the seams. It was too much, yet not enough. She found herself begging, “ _Please_ ,” though not entirely sure what she was asking for.

 

As he meandered lower, her fingers found their way back to raking hard through his unfashionably short hair. Billy’s free hand ran down her thigh to her calf, before planting a languid kiss inside her thigh. His eyes shifted up to hers. “I dreamt of this.”

 

There was too much blood rushing anywhere but her head. Abigail couldn’t quite comprehend anything other than the overwhelming sea of sensation. “What are...oh.” Billy’s mouth joined his hand, adding to the list of things she didn’t know were options until, well, now. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her head, but she couldn’t look away. No, she didn’t _want_ to look away. Watching him lick and lave between her legs felt downright wanton, but pressure was building somewhere deep inside her and she felt ever closer to that indefinable _more_. Her breath stuttered and she licked her lips when she realized his eyes were on hers. He made a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl that vibrated against her, and then ever so gently slid a second finger inside her.

 

Abigail arched against the bed, letting out a moan that rose into a soft cry. The new fullness sent her over the edge. His free hand grasped onto her hip, keeping her firmly on his lips even as she rocked against him. A world of sensation exploded through her in waves that left her gasping and crying out. Every curl of his fingers inside her and the press of his lips sent fresh sparks skyrocketing through her body. Muscles she didn’t know she had tightened and spasmed of their own accord around Billy’s fingers. She was trembling and struggling for breath against the waning ripples that had just shattered her.

 

In her euphoria, she was dimly aware that Billy had abandoned his post and was trailing light kisses along her jaw with upturned lips. “They didn’t tell you about that in lady school?” His voice was raspy and hot against her ear. He was entirely too pleased with himself.

 

She gave a soft laugh and their lips found each other, deep and slow. She could taste herself on his lips and it made her feel deliciously shameless. The fire was already rekindling - his hands were pushing her shift up and her legs pulled him in closer to feel his hardness working against where his mouth had just been. Abigail stopped touching him long enough to let him pull the garment completely off her. Years of training piped up in a corner of her brain, crowing that she was now fully exposed. She giggled involuntarily at the thought; surely, they had been far more intimate just moments ago.

 

“ _What_ are you laughing about?” Billy attempted to feign seriousness, but he was still all smiles and bright teeth and twinkling blue eyes.

 

“I...I couldn’t explain it if I tried,” Abigail erupted into giggles she tried to smother with her hands, but Billy pushed her hands aside, pinning them to the bed and captured her lips with his. He released her and she resumed her eager exploration of the hard lines and cuts of muscle, so foreign to her yet innately familiar.

 

Her hands finally skimmed at the waist of his breeches, but this time when his skin jumped and his breath hitched, neither of them was laughing. Billy murmured a curse and tore his attention away to nearly rip his half chaps and boots from his legs - no easy feat, as he’d diligently chosen and molded the perfect combination to keep his legs and feet protected even in the worst conditions. From now on, the crew might see him barefoot on deck.

 

The inconvenient footwear out of the way, Billy returned his attention to Abigail - _Abigail_ , finally, after a chance meeting, letters, months apart, false starts and every carefully constructed barrier, was in his bed. Her hair was spread out like a glossy, dark, curling halo, a sharp contrast from the pale soft skin he’d exposed. Her time in Nassau had given her arms and cheeks a light golden tan, and at just that moment, she was flushed, lips swollen and pink. Gazing down at her, still tasting her on his tongue, Billy considered for perhaps the hundredth time since he started kissing her that if this was a dream, he’d kill whomever had the misfortune to wake him up. No, she was too bright, too sweet, too soft and at turns too hard. In none of his dreams had they ever laughed together like this, and his mind had certainly never been able to conjure what she might taste like, or how the sweat would bead on her sun-dappled skin, or how she’d lean into his every touch.

 

No, this was no dream. But he did have designs on the individual who left faded purplish bruises along her ribs.

 

Abigail’s attention drifted lower. Her tongue felt heavy and dry in her mouth and her heart thundered in her ears. She brushed her palm over his now extremely prominent hardness, then grew bolder with a tentative grasp that set him moaning and clenching a fist into the sheets. She pushed him further, stroking him over his trousers, and leaned up to take his earlobe between her teeth, gently nipping and sucking. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid and he muttered a stream of curses; if she kept doing that, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

 

He pulled away just enough to divest himself of the last article of clothing keeping them apart, and was back on her, cradling her face in his hands and taking her mouth with his again. Abigail was rocking her hips against him, moaning low in her throat at the new sensations that threatened to tip her into that shattering abyss Billy had already shown her. Billy ran his hands down the length of her body, one stopped at her hip and with the other he took himself in hand. He had stopped kissing her and was looking at her with a question in his eyes he didn’t need to verbalize. She only needed to move her chin ever so slightly up and down. He pressed his forehead to hers and slowly, with self-control than he knew he possessed, he pushed into her.

 

Her hands dug into the muscles of his back and she sucked in her breath. This was quite a bit more than what he had done with his fingers. He rocked in and out, each time going a little deeper as her body stretched to accommodate him. She thought she surely must be drawing blood down his back, but she could scarcely breathe, let alone will her hands to release their hold on him. The feeling of him inside her lay somewhere between pleasure and pain, but she didn’t want him to stop. She cried out when she felt a sharp cramp and Billy froze over her, his face fell into immediate concern but he was as incapable of speech in that moment as she was.

 

The pain subsided into a dull ache, masked by the foreign pleasure of fullness as her body adjusted to him. “Are you...are…” his throaty voice stumbled and caught on itself. Abigail answered him by sliding her hands down his torso to his hips and grinding against him, bringing him deeper inside and eliciting a string of expletives. A stroke, then another, and he was fully seated inside her. He stayed like that for a moment, clutching her against him with a hand on her bottom and reveling in the sensation of being buried to the hilt in her. _Her_. It was still not a dream. She was tight and wet and his in the most primal fashion.

 

Abigail continued rocking her body into his, thrilling in the obvious effect and power she had over him. Their pace increased, near frantic. Every curse and guttural noise conjured from his throat sent a fresh spike of triumph through her and egged her onwards. He dwarfed her, not simply tall but broad and thick with muscle and heavy between her legs. He would have no trouble taking what he wanted, but in this, since the moment he first crashed his lips against hers, he sought permission every step of the way. Every move she made, so much as a muscle twitch, earned an immediate impassioned response.

 

Right here and now, she held all sway over William Bones Manderly.

 

She was dragging her teeth against the hollow of his throat when he found his release inside her. His powerful hands brought her as tight to him as possible and feeling him spasming inside her sent her crying out with him. He kept her locked tight to him as his body slowly relaxed, unwilling to part with all the nice feelings that apparently came with having Abigail Ashe wrapped around him.

 

Conscious of his weight and rapidly depleting energy, Billy eased himself onto his back, taking Abigail with him. He closed his eyes and stroked her hair, her shoulders, her arms, her hips, her bottom, anywhere his hand could lazily wander as he struggled to rein in his labored breathing. He could feel her heart still hammering against his chest. With a gentle sigh, Abigail nestled herself into the crook of his arm, her free hand tracing light patterns across his chest. The sudden loss of her around him was almost painful, but the contented noise she made and the way she fit so neatly against him warmed a feeling in his heart he didn’t know he had.

 

Reason and coherent thought were slowly returning to both of them. Abigail thought she would - should - feel more ashamed; ashamed of what she’d done, ashamed to be with a man to whom she was not married, laid completely bare. But the shame she had been so sure of wasn’t coming. Instead, she felt complete and satiated, if a little sore. His breathing grew more steady under her cheek and she found her lips turning up in a faint smile against him.

  

Ned Lowe muddied the waters of her life by ripping her from one trajectory onto another, and at this very moment she could kiss the awful man. She knew, like all of her school peers knew, that upon reaching her majority, her father would send for her, she’d make the rounds during the social season and then be married off according to whichever match made the most financial profit for all involved parties. It was all hardly a recipe for filling the gaps left behind by her broken little family.

 

Billy’s fingers tilted Abigail’s chin until she was shyly looking up at him from under her lashes. The lust-induced haze was fully cleared and now he studied her, his brows knitted in concern. “Are you alright?”

 

Abigail’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Was she alright? After nearly two years of knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would never feel for anyone what she felt for Billy, and now months of this torturous standoff in which he would see her without _seeing_ her, she finally had him in the most tangible and real manner possible, and he was worried that she wasn’t alright.

 

She pushed herself up enough to press an unhurried kiss against his lips. She could feel his heart already speeding up in his chest. “Yes,” she smiled and broke the kiss. “I’m fine.”

 

He still looked a shade worried. “I know it hurt. It won’t hurt like that again, or, well, it shouldn’t.”

 

His concern was endearing. She’d had hushed, illicit conversations with friends who’d gotten married. They had been quick to grimace and hiss with disgust quick words of pain and discomfort and a generally awful experience. Max, on the other hand, had softened to a nearly maternal warmth and gently explained exactly what happened, why it might hurt and exactly how much it didn’t have to hurt, especially after the first time. Max also quietly offered her services should “Mr. Bones finally drop the pretense.”

 

“Truly, Abigail,” she smiled and spoke with her lilting French accent, “you might be the most powerful woman on all of Nassau.”

 

“And how is that?” Abigail cast a skeptical eye.

 

“If you let Mr. Bones into your bed, we may never see him again. The Brethren will no longer have their instigator and kingmaker, the resistance will fall apart and you will have handed us all neatly back to English rule.”

 

Abigail had nearly spit out her tea.

 

Now she lay with him, and she wondered about the dichotomy of the man stroking her hair and checking to make sure she was alright. She knew what he did for the Brethren, in service to a cause to overthrow English law. She had seen first hand what he was capable of. He always seemed so certain she would turn him away, that one day she would finally decide she could no longer bear his presence knowing what he was. With her, though, he was like this; gentle, sweet, considerate.

 

She could now see what Max had meant. When the man committed himself to something, he committed.

 

His fingers tangled in her hair and his frowning, concentrated effort to disentangle them without pulling or disturbing her sent her into giggles, which Billy joined in a low, rumbling laugh.

 

“I didn’t finish washing my hair,” Abigail explained when the laughter died down. “I must look like something that washed up in a storm.”

 

“We’re just going to have to go back to the lagoon and finish the job. As many baths as it takes.” Billy’s gaze turned heated before his mouth quirked. “You’re gonna start looking like a member of the crew if we don’t get you cleaned up. I’ll have to put you to work.”

 

Abigail’s mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

Billy started to argue that he would indeed, if only to see her pretty bottom in boy’s breeches running around the deck, but he gave into a wide smile. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. You had me so distracted, I almost fell out of the rigging on the _Siren_. Hit my head on a boom and damn near knocked myself unconscious. Crew made fun of me for weeks after.”

 

His chest warmed even as her brown eyes bubbled over with giggles. “Oh, it’s funny to you is it?” He raised his chin indignantly, but his wide grin betrayed him. Abigail could only nod through her laughter. Flushed and glowing, her lips were still swollen from kissing. Every time he thought he’d seen her at her most beautiful, he saw her again. Billy captured her mouth with his, slow and deep, then pulled back, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

 

“I misspoke, earlier.”

 

“What do you mean?” Abigail quirked her head. Most of what had been said between them hours ago was now lost in the foamy sea of delicious pleasure that had finally boiled over.

 

Billy studied her, carefully considering his next words. “I said I couldn’t promise you anything.” Her eyes lit with understanding. “That’s not true. I love you. I don’t know what I can do about that; my name’s no good, but I do love you. Shoulda said it a while ago.”

 

A soft smile graced her lips and she ran a hand down his coarsely stubbled jaw. “I know. I knew.” Billy visibly relaxed and continued stroking her jaw, her cheeks, her lips, her hair. “I love you.”

 

In a quick movement, he had her laying on top of him, sinking his tongue into her mouth. She moaned as his hands pulled her hips against his. Billy pulled his head back suddenly, eliciting a rather adorable scrunched and confused frown. “Thank God, because you’re stuck with me now.”

 

His sky blue eyes twinkled up at her and his humor teased at the corners of his full lips.

 

Abigail could live with being stuck with Billy Manderly.

  
  


* * *

 

Woodes raised his eyes from the papers laid out before his unscrupulous guests with a glint of amusement. He’d dedicated his life to stopping piracy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate their style.

 

When in doubt, they would always look for more than what was in front of them. That was a sentiment he could respect.

 

Sometimes what they were looking for was what he least expected.

 

“Can you repeat that, Mr. Manderly?” He almost had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning at the man seated across from him. Even Eleanor was hiding her face by keeping her attentions out the window. Captain Silver was side eyeing his first mate with his mouth open. He clamped it shut with a resigned sigh and kept his hands steepled over his chest. They would have words about this later.

 

“You heard me.” Billy cocked an ankle over his knee and nodded pointedly at the documents he’d just been offered. “I’m not asking much.”

 

Woodes pursed his lips and assented. “It’ll take a few days to put together, but I don’t see why not.”

 

“Well, if that is all Billy has left to say on the matter,” Silver shot his friend a long-suffering look, “I believe we’re done here.”

 

Before Silver or Billy gathered their carefully negotiated documents, Woodes stayed them with a raised hand. “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I think this all around calls for a drink.”

 

Eleanor set out glasses and a decanter of dark brandy, but let them pour their own drinks after she filled her own glass.

 

Woodes raised his glass. “To keeping the Spanish off our island, and prosperous unions.”

 

Everyone toasted to that.

 

Silver let Billy walk next to him through the town center in silence. Billy always trimmed his steps to accommodate Silver’s limping gate.

 

He stopped when Silver stopped, turning to look at his former captain with a confused brow.

 

“Billy, we left you alone with the girl for three days. What the fuck?”

 

Despite his size and the violence Silver had seen Billy inflict, the man still managed to blush and shrug like a little boy without actually answering the question.

 

Silver couldn’t fight it. He grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Good job, mate. Way to make the most out of a negotiation.”

 

* * *

 

Four weeks passed after Abigail Ashe mysteriously escaped from her imprisonment, conveniently after Governor Rogers and Eleanor Guthrie’s visit. Of course, Pierce couldn’t pin anything on either of them. Abigail’s escape wasn’t noticed until well after three bells at the mid watch, hours after his guests had departed, seemingly satisfied with their inspection of her treatment.

 

It grated on Pierce that he couldn’t simply arrest at least the Guthrie woman, who clearly had a hand in Abigail’s escape. He couldn’t arrest the governor without solid evidence, and the crown was in no hurry to issue any warrants over the matter.

 

He couldn’t even conduct a search of the island for his wayward prisoner. Rogers had gently reminded him of the limits of his authority in Nassau and until the crown declared martial law, he was not responsible for law enforcement on the island.

 

Pierce had been chided and struck like a wayward child. Oh yes, it grated on him. He refocused his efforts on organizing the militia and remaining colonial naval forces. For the past two weeks, he had the _Antilles_ on roving patrols in the waters around New Providence. Their captures of small pirate sloops had been little consolation for the Brethren prize he’d had in his hands - chained up in his cabin - just a few weeks earlier.

 

In fact, these little patrols were the only thing going right. His men sent to ambush the Brethren never reported back, but Billy Bones and others he knew to have been part of the crew who walked into jungle had been seen around the town.

 

It did little to dwell on failures, however. Rather, they were learning opportunities, chances to better one's self and situation. He would not underestimate the Brethren again, not their connections or land fighting prowess, at least.

 

“Sails!” a voice called from the crow’s nest, followed by an instant, seamless flurry of activity. A hand passed the glass to Lieutenant Pierce without having to be told and pointed in the direction the watchman had also pointed.

 

“She’s floundered, Sir,” his first mate declared.

 

Indeed, the ship in his glass was listing badly. Her sails hung limp and useless, a tangle of lines kept them from doing stirring little more than a sad flutter in the wind. The Union Jack flew proud at the stern still, perhaps a bit tattered. It was hard to tell at their distance.

 

“Could be a pirate trap,” the first mate continued.

 

“If that is a trap,” Pierce lowered the glass, “it’s the worst trap I’ve ever seen. They can’t have more than 10 guns on that ship, her sails aren’t fit and they’re carrying enough water, she’ll be sunk in hours. They’d be hard-pressed to put up a fight.”

 

His first mate only shrugged and turned to bark out orders to the men. They would approach with caution. He was right - a ship like this could present a number of dangers. Nothing stirred above decks to give any clue as to what happened. The hold could be packed tight with disease-ridden corpses, or a crew of desperate pirates ready to make a stand.

 

They were also nearly dead center between New Providence and a tiny atoll, and on a strong wind. A ship lying in wait, out of sight, could be on them while they investigated the floundered wreck before they’d have a chance to cut away and mount a defense. He wouldn’t admit these risks to the crew, though. They were too used to the loose way of things in the Caribbean. They needed a reminder of the English way. On this boat, he was their captain. He didn’t need their suggestions, he needed them to follow orders.

 

The _Antilles_ came gently alongside the beleaguered ship. It actually looked worse up close. Lines were secured and gangplanks leveled between the two vessels. The first mate lead a small crew across first, clearing the deck. At his, “All clear!” Trent made his way across the rickety, rolling wood, closely followed by the rest of his crew.

 

“Sir!” a voice called his attention toward the quarterdeck. He shoved his way through the small throng of sailors and found a huddled figure, cowering and trembling near the ladder well. The skirts and size indicated it was a woman, but her clothing was so wretched and a shawl shielded her hair and face from view.

 

Trent reached a hand out to her shoulder. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”

 

She was up so quickly Trent nearly dropped to his bottom. The sailors reeled back, hands flew to their respective weapons. She threw the shawl off in a flash of shining dark hair and leveled a cocked pistol in Trent’s face, smirking none too prettily.

 

“Hello, Trent,” Abigail ignored the clicks of pistols around them.

 

Trent raised his hands. The muscles in his jaw were cracking painfully. “Miss Ashe, this is most surprising.”

 

“Is it?” She feigned ignorance, still disinterested in the armed sailors encircling them. “Here I thought you were hoping to see more of me.”

 

Trent huffed and fixed his hat, then straightened his rumpled coat. “I thought you’d be halfway to Cuba, or maybe Saint Augustine by now. I hear Spain is open to English traitors.”

 

A tall figure materialized from the ladder well, pistol drawn and a hand on his sword. The sailors who had accompanied Pierce shifted and turned uncomfortably, unsure of where to point their weapons or the severity of the danger. Pierce’s shoulders slumped.

 

“That’s a serious accusation, Lieutenant,” Billy said, flanking Abigail. “I ask you to watch your tone around my wife.”

 

Pierce scoffed, then barked a laugh. He gave a mocking bow to the couple with all the flourish of his upbringing. “I believe a congratulations are in order! Tell me, was the ceremony conducted by Blackbeard with only pirates as witnesses, or was it a full tribal affair with the Maroons?”

 

Billy flashed a smile and exchanged an amused glance with Abigail over her shoulder. “Oh, they were at the party, but the ceremony was witnessed by Governor Rogers. Wouldn’t want anyone questioning the legality of the proceedings, you understand.”

 

“Is that what all this is about?” Pierce squinted skeptically around the wrecked ship. “You could have sent a letter.”

 

Billy pressed his lips together and whistled. After a beat, shouts sounded from the _Antilles_ , even a few gunshots. Pirates swarmed out of hiding on the listing ship and even Trent’s own men whipped their weapons around on each other. Only a handful held a pathetic defense. Abigail involuntarily giggled at Trent’s open-mouthed gaping at the unfolding scene.

 

“Oh, no, Rogers signed a few other documents while he was at it. I’m here to arrest you for the theft of a colonial vessel.”

 

The smaller man's jaw fell open. His men were already dropping their weapons and raising their hands. Hardly a shot had been fired. “How the fuck…”

 

“The deal still stands?” Trent’s own first mate cocked his head in question at Billy. “A place on your crew or safe passage back to Nassau?”

 

“Aye,” Billy grinned. "How many did you get?"

 

The man spit a wad of tobacco on the deck next to Pierce. "'bout half want to sail with you. The rest just want to go back to work on Nassau. Can't do anything about the one's sworn to the navy, though."

 

Billy pursed his lips and nodded in approval. Not bad for sending only three men along with Pierce's crew.

 

Trent snarled up at him, “After all this shit, every man you’ve murdered, you took a fucking pardon?”

 

“A pardon?” Abigail snickered.

 

“We got something a sight better.” Billy clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling. “I got a letter of marque to stop you from making off with this ship.” Billy crouched to a knee to get level with Trent’s felled figure. “I got another letter authorizing me to use it in defense of colonial interests. The men voted, you’re out. I’m the captain of the _Antilles_ and I’ll be taking my ship.”

 

“Gunn!” Billy called. “Secure the men who’ve surrendered in the hold.”

 

“Aye, Cap’n,” Ben Gunn cheerfully replied, already corralling the few sailors who couldn't take or wanted no part of the colonial deal.

 

Trent pushed himself to his feet and raised his pistol at Billy. “I will not have this. You have no authority-”

 

“Rogers begs to differ,” Billy cut him off. He flicked his gaze down to the gun, then back to Pierce’s face. “Apparently, you were supposed to leave with the rest of the royal fleet. Committed a little piracy of your own.” Billy leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Was it just because you wanted Rogers’ house, or because you wanted an excuse to keep my wife chained up in your quarters?”

 

“You and that whore can go fuck your-”

 

Billy’s fist cracked against Trent’s jaw before he could finish that thought. The gun clattered uselessly to the deck and Trent was sent reeling back to his knees. “I told you to watch your mouth.”

 

Billy towered over Trent, his fist still clenched, when Abigail’s hand came to rest on his arm. He tore his gaze away and already felt lighter looking down at her face. With the pistol tucked into her belt, ocean-worn skirt and shirt, she almost looked like a member of the crew.

 

“What do you want to do with him?” Billy asked just loudly enough for Abigail to hear him over the hustle and bustle of the crew getting the _Antilles_ ready to make sail.

 

Abigail pursed her lips and frowned thoughtfully. “You were advised to arrest him, were you not?”

 

“Meh,” Billy shrugged. “He put up a struggle. Anything can happen out here, Rogers knows that.”

 

Trent’s eyes widened and flew between the couple, calmly discussing _not_ arresting him.

 

Billy turned and cupped Abigail’s cheek. “Whatever you want to do, sweetheart. It’s up to you.”

 

She stared up at him. On the rolling waves, he was steady and firm. In the weeks that had followed their interlude in the jungle, Billy had cemented himself in her life in more ways than one, in more ways than she had ever dared hope.

 

They discussed it quietly at first. Billy tentatively broached the subject of whether or not Abigail would like some manner of restitution for the crimes committed against her. She knew what sort of restitution Billy and the Brethren would deliver. The remaining threads of her upbringing balked at the brutality of it, but they were silenced by the overwhelming memories of the repeated violations she’d suffered.

 

As they lay in bed, he had held her, stroking her hair and pressing his full lips against her forehead. “It’s not going to make you feel better, not really. It feels more like...closing a door you don’t ever have to open again.”

 

So now she could close this door. She held her chin high over the trembling man who had taken such pleasure in hurting and humiliating her. In his eyes, she saw flashes of Lowe and Vane. With all these sailors about, the two boats were crowded with witnesses who would know Abigail Manderly was not a thing to be taken and used.

 

“How long did you say this boat has before it sinks?” She blinked innocently up at her husband.

 

“Half a day,” Billy ventured, “maybe a full day before she goes under.”

 

Abigail lowered herself to a crouch, so she could speak to Trent at eye level. “Captain Manderly, have your man fetch some irons.” She made the request without looking away from Trent’s pale face. “Lieutenant Pierce, I believe you are a danger to yourself. This is for your own good, I’m sure you understand.”

 

Trent was rapidly shaking his head and spitting negatives and denials and promises and anything he could think of that might get him out of the end he already knew was coming. Two sailors appeared and began the process of trussing him up, even as he struggled.

 

“Wait,” Abigail held out her hand. Trent nearly deflated, breathing his gratitude. “Trent, I want you to know,” she smiled and his heart lifted. She was a merciful lady, after all, “I want you to know exactly how it feels to be at someone else’s mercy. I want you to watch the door and count the seconds, praying for the moment your rescue will come, until you drown in it. Chain him to the desk in the captain’s cabin.”

 

Trent blanched, then boiled over, flushing red with anger. “This is piracy! You’ll all hang for this!”

 

Billy pulled a folded parchment from his belt and _thwapped_ Trent’s nose with it. “No, mate, this is privateering. You heard the lady,” he jerked his chin in the direction of the cabin and his men took up pushing and dragging the nearly feral officer away.

 

Abigail watched until they were out of sight. Billy watched Abigail in turn. He didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, he only knew what had helped quell the rage and fear in him. He waited for the reality to set in. Would she rail against him for leading her down such a dark path? Would she weep that he hadn’t taken her off this path?

 

She looked up at him with clear eyes and a calm expression. “You were right. I’m not sure I feel better, but I feel...I feel like it’s over.”

 

They were almost ready to get underway. Billy lead her back over the gangplank to his new ship, before he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything better.”

 

A laugh bubbled out of her throat. “I’m free, and I’m with you. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

 

He bent to kiss her, but a voice stopped him. “Where are we headin’, Bones?” Gunn smirked at them.

 

“Home,” Billy ground out. “And it’s _Captain_ , now.”

 

“Right, Captain Bones.” Gunn smiled wider.

 

Gunn was gone, shouting orders before Billy could finish shaking his head and insisting, “No, don’t you dare start calling me that!”

 

“They all call you that.” Abigail patted his chest.

 

The sails unfurled, whipping great swaths of canvas against the wind. Within moments, they were moving and the slowly sinking wreck they’d abandoned Trent to was fading from vision and memory.

 

Abigail stepped to the starboard rail, facing nothing but open ocean as far as she could see. Billy sidled next to her, wrapping a massive arm lazily around her waist.

 

“What’s next?” Abigail let the breeze cool her face. Sitting on that wrecked boat had been stifling.

 

Billy’s arm tightened and he pulled her closer.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *I retconned Kaya's background a bit from Part 2. I chose a name that originates from the southern region of the African continent, but there were no French colonies there. So kaya would no be speaking a French pidgin! Kaya is a maroon who was taken from the Zulu tribe in Danish-occupied South Africa. Since this is fan fiction, I'm not paid for this, and I don't know anyone from this region, I don't really have the resources to give her accurate dialogue. I went with a mixture of basic Dutch and Zulu words/phrases. If anyone has more insight on this, I'd LOVE to hear it and give her an accurate representation!


End file.
